


All The White Horses Have Gone Ahead

by Neelh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neelh/pseuds/Neelh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I'll try and not hate myself."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I'll love you until you can do it yourself."</em>
</p>
<p>A few scenes with Enjolras and Grantaire; living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The White Horses Have Gone Ahead

Grantaire blew his nose quietly before wiping it dry with the rough tissue. He dumped it in the toilet and pulled on his boots. They were a brand new Christmas present and black, with thick laces that he tied quickly with a pianist's dexterity. He buttoned his green coat up and slung his old, threadbare scarf around his neck, throwing one end over his right shoulder and the other keeping it in place. He grinned and pulled on his gloves.

 

"I'm going out!" he called up the stairs.

 

The voice of his mother replied with a happy tone, "Take your phone and be back for dinner!"

 

"I will! Love you!"

 

He was out of the door before she could reply.

 

The black-haired boy, barely fifteen, would have skipped down the hill if he wouldn't have slipped and, when he reached the bottom, crossed the road at the traffic lights without much thought to his own safety. Thankfully, on such an early morning with so much snow, cars weren't out much. He bounded up the hill to his friend's house, missing the turning and having to run back, tripping and falling into an exceptionally deep snowdrift. Grantaire struggled and writhed to escape, accidentally causing some of the snow to fall down his coat.

 

"Grantaire!" a voice called. The boy turned around, grinning broadly, as the sound of his friend's voice registered in his mind and connected to the face he loved so much.

 

"Enjolras!" he replied. He ran to the boy and flung his arms around the blonde's narrow shoulders.

 

"I brought my sled." Enjolras lifted the blue plastic up slightly by the red string as though it was an offering. "And my mum wants to make us lunch, so we can probably expect something like potato waffles, which are delicious, so I'm not complaining."

 

Grantaire nodded, smiling in a way that was much more like a grimace. He shivered, not intending for Enjolras to see. However, the blonde did and looked worried.

 

"Did you fall into the snow?" he guessed. At Grantaire's nod, Enjolras pulled him close until he was completely warm.

 

"Thanks," muttered Grantaire, though he was smiling warmly and shyly when they broke apart, his head tilted slightly downwards. His curls fell into his eyes, obscuring them slightly, and Enjolras brushed them away with a mittened hand. They were made of maroon wool, with orange snowflakes croqueted into them. On a whim, Enjolras pulled Grantaire into another embrace before letting go, tentatively squeezing the other boy's hand before running away.

 

"Come on!" he grinned, slowing down as he jogged up the hill with his sled. "I've got someplace to show you!"

 

Grantaire ran after him, staggering and stumbling but staying mostly upright until he reached the top of the hill, where Enjolras sat him down on the sled, perched behind him and pushed them downhill. "Nobody actually says someplace anymore, Enjolras."

 

"I do! Am I not a person, Grantaire?" Enjolras was steering the sled with his body weight, but the humour in his voice was still evident.

 

"I guess so," chuckled the boy.

 

They spent the rest of the time ducking snowballs that the neighbours' kids threw at them, but eventually got away to a little spot beside a brook in a little area of woodland. To call it a park would be to ignore its wildness, while to call it a forest or a wood would be far too generous. However, the two boys could walk on the frosty, leafy terrain and be at peace together.

 

"You hate yourself," commented Enjolras casually.

 

Grantaire bit his lip. "Quite possibly. I forget I do when I'm with you or the others, so can we not talk about this?"

 

"We need to, though." The blonde seemed to be preparing for a long argument. "Everyone notices when you're sad, and you tend to make more self-deprecating jokes then and sometimes you just laugh about how much you hate yourself and it makes us so, so upset."

 

"Please don't worry," Grantaire replied, catching his friend's hand and squeezing it. "I'll try and not hate myself."

 

"I'll love you until you can do it yourself," Enjolras blurted, before blushing scarlet and trying to pull away.

 

Grantaire did not relinquish his grip and instead asked, "Do you mean it?"

 

"Yes," Enjolras admitted.

 

-

 

The spring was arriving, and Grantaire felt himself drifting away from Enjolras. When they were at school, the blonde stayed with Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Feuilly. When Feuilly was with his possibly-boyfriend, Bahorel, Enjolras might take notice of his own partner. Except for a glorious Valentine's Day when they had held hands under the desk and spent lunch alone together, he never really acknowledged Grantaire in school otherwise, except as a friend, but the boy never found it in himself to care.

 

Jehan, Éponine, Joly and Lesgles were now his little friendship group. They never ignored him, which had the unfortunate side effect of them seeing how he looked at Enjolras. They all hung around in the same area, meaning that a few paces could take you from a political discussion to a beautiful rendition of _The Mysterious Ticking Noise_ , and most flitted between these conversations perfectly. Enjolras, however, had little time to joke and Grantaire had no patience for politics and the world outside his little group of nine minus him.

 

"What the fuck do you even want to _do_ with your life?" Enjolras finally snapped, when Grantaire had scoffed at Enjolras's desire to study History, Geography and Mandarin. It was a warm June day, less than a week until the younger boy's birthday. "Drink yourself to death? Come on, we've all noticed that you don't enjoy coming to school sober."

 

"I don't _know_ , Enj, and to be honest, I don't particularly give a shit." Grantaire shrugged at the blonde before turning away, the veneration fading from his eyes. Though it was only lunchtime, none of the teachers were looking their way and Grantaire took the opportunity to sling his rucksack over his shoulder and jump over the gate and escape school.

 

The blonde seemed frozen for a moment, his blue eyes wide, before he followed Grantaire, hardly thinking to pick up his own bag.

 

"'Taire!" he called as he sprinted behind the boy. He didn't answer, so Enjolras decided to conserve his breath and focus on chasing his best friend.

 

They were almost at their place, surrounded by sparse trees, when Enjolras caught his friend in his arms.

 

"You didn't look when you crossed the road," he mumbled into the boy's shoulder.

 

Grantaire stood still, frozen even in the summer heat. "Neither did you."

 

"Are you going to leave me?" Enjolras asked.

 

Grantaire took his hand and walked with him down the brook. It was a few long minutes until he replied, "I thought you already had."

 

Catching Grantaire's other hand and turning so they faced each other, Enjolras looked into his boyfriend's icy eyes. "I always want you with me."

 

"Oh, Enj." The laughter Grantaire offered was bitter and short. "Things change."

 

They remained in silence until their parents found them, with angry faces but relieved eyes.

 

Enjolras made it a point that summer to knock on Grantaire's door almost every day, sometimes with his scooter, and ride down to the stream with him before walking together and talking about anything and everything. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend's options of Art, Performing Arts and Latin, though grinned when Grantaire told him that though he didn't know his precise life plan yet, that something arty was the only way for him to not feel like a complete failure.

 

They hadn't done anything that could be mistaken for more than platonic for a while, so the slow kiss that followed was more welcome than anything else.

 

-

 

"I cannot _believe_ you, Enjolras!"

 

Grantaire was pacing forwards and backwards, running a hand through his recently shorn hair.

 

"I have to do this, Grantaire," the blonde replied calmly.

 

"No, you don't!" he snapped in reply. "I got a scholarship for a uni in America, and I didn't go because you told me to stay with you, and now you're buggering off to fucking _China_ of all places?"

 

"China has the facilities for me to learn enough-"

 

"To save the world, huh?" shrieked Grantaire. "What the fuck happened to saving _me_?"

 

"I thought you didn't want saving!" shouted Enjolras, jumping up from their apartment's sofa. "I thought you said that you were coping _fine_ , that all of your classes were _fine_ , that your job was going _fine_ , that everything was _fucking fine_!"

 

"Of course I said that!" Grantaire yelled. "I'm not as huge a piece of shit enough to tell you all of the fucking bullshit running through my brain!"

 

Enjolras's posture relaxed and his face softened, though his expression didn't otherwise change. His eyes met with Grantaire's pleadingly as he said, "Tell me. I need you to tell me because-"

 

"You're going to fly off to China," Grantaire growled.

 

Enjolras shook his head. "Not anymore. I love you too much to leave. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

 

Grantaire looked hesitant, until Enjolras held out his arms and caught him as he fell, sobbing and gasping out everything in his head.

 

-

 

Hair turns grey after decades upon decades of jobs in law firms and secretary work.

 

When Enjolras looks at Grantaire now, he remembers happiness of a lifetime ago and of the one he is in now. He remembers burning idealism that still lives on, and a look of veneration that filled him with fire in his stomach and lungs. He remembers the dreams of his youth and lists every single one as a failure. But he has Grantaire. It took him so long to realise that Grantaire was all he needed.

 

Whenever Grantaire needs support, he looks to Enjolras, then down to the gold ring on his finger. When they lie down together during the night, Grantaire still sees the golden curls of his archangel, his Greek hero, his sun god. On bad days, he still clutches to Enjolras, kissing him and falling asleep in his tight grip.

 

They met their old friends again and retied themselves to each other. Technology meant that they could talk to Courfeyrac, who had settled in Ireland, and Bahorel and Feuilly, who had gone to Canada one summer and never came back. The others were still scattered over England, only a train journey or bus ride away.

 

Sometimes Grantaire drinks. It's never often, but when he does, he needs support to stand up. The day after, he chuckles bitterly at himself and holds a hand over his transplanted liver.

 

"I wanted you to be proud of me."

 

"Funny, I always wanted that myself."

 

Grantaire always did need Enjolras to love him, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Winter by Tori Amos, which is what this is based on.
> 
> Believe it or not, I've been planning this since the first of December but only started writing it on the ninth. Look at the Room 9 Advent Calendar and guess why.


End file.
